


let's do it (let's make weird alien space cake)

by prettyshiroic (kcgane)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Baking, Fluff, M/M, Very fluffy, it's just fun and fluffy, warning for cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 12:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10921527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcgane/pseuds/prettyshiroic
Summary: Walking towards Shiro, Keith prodded his chest with the spoon playfully.“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to wear the recipe, Takashi.”“But I wear it so well.”





	let's do it (let's make weird alien space cake)

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt i did on tumblr! pretty much pure fluff tbh!

Keith was not an amazing cook by any means. Nor was he even a _decent_ one. Perhaps the best way of putting it was that Keith was **competent** in terms of managing to survive. Throughout his time in the desert shack, that survival had been born more from intuition and resourcefulness than culinary gifts. So when Shiro - an equally questionable cook - had suggested the pair of them baked for the team, well. Keith had his doubts, immediately. Because the entire thing was going to be a recipe for _disaster._ **  
**

It was also far too early in the morning, which had to mean Shiro was evading sleep. Again.

There was something rough in Shiro’s voice when the suggestion came (“Want to bake a weird alien cake with me for the team?”) that stopped Keith from voicing his doubts on their success, however. A rasp not usually there, the kind that came from pressure, strain. There were tired lines etched over his skin, heavy and dark shadows creeping beneath his eyes and prying them open. The same glazed eyes that also would not meet Keith’s, dancing slowly around the kitchen. This was exposure, this was raw and vulnerable. _Shiro needed this._

And that was why Keith had agreed to partake in this _ **imminent disaster**_ without hesitation.

Apron donned, he pulled his hair back and fixed a determined glance at the ingredients splayed across the counter. Beside it were set of instructions written by Hunk. Okay. Yes. They were a good team. If they combined their efforts, put their teamwork to good use, something could surely be salvaged here. Especially if Hunk’s words of wisdom were bestowed upon them in the form of misplaced instructions. There was little scope for things to go wrong.

Or so Keith thought.

That had been quite some time ago. Now, the situation was not exactly what he expected.

“Shiro, we’ve been at this for a while now and I just - I _can’t_ see a change in this mixture. Are you _sure_ this is right?” A pout crossed over Keith’s face. Looking down at the bowl was simply confirmation that this may not be salvageable after all. Despite the stubborn prevalence, mixing with vigour, Keith’s _whatever this was supposed to be_ hadn’t improved.

“Relax, Keith. It’ll be fine. Remember, patience yields focus.” Shiro replied easily, seemingly unfazed by the strange rising of the goo he’d put into one of the trays behind him. It drizzled down in copious amounts across the workstation. Sighing in mild exasperation, Keith set the spoon down. Patience may well yield focus but right now it was yielding _nothing_ _._ As he turned from the bowl of _despair_ to look over at Shiro, the words faded. Instead, a bemused smile slid across his lips. Eyes crinkled with hushed fondness. The normalcy of the actions, instilling some kind of routine, had soon proven to be something Shiro welcomed.  

Perhaps _a little too much._

Walking towards Shiro, Keith prodded his chest with the spoon playfully.

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to wear the recipe, _Takashi._ ”

“But I wear it so well.”

That had Keith raising an eyebrow. Arms folded across his chest, Keith took in the sight before him. Shiro’s apron was dusted with the ingredients. Some of it smeared across his face and hair.  Ridiculous. _Ridiculously endearing_.

“It’s Coran’s green goo. I don’t think _anyone_ wears it well.”

The goo had acted like hair gel, Shiro’s white tuft of hair pushed back at a truly bizarre angle. Reaching forwards, Keith laughed breathlessly at the sight. Shiro leant a little into his hand as he skimmed fingers absently through the patch.

“So you’re saying green isn’t my colour?”

Wiping off the goo on Shiro’s apron, grinning at the _affronted_ look he received, Keith shrugged. Striving for nonchalance here failed because something warmer than the sun they passed four vargas ago spread through Keith’s veins at an alarming rate.

“Guess so.”

“Hm.” Shiro hummed contemplatively, fingers drumming against his prosthetic. “Then I wonder if it’s yours…”

“What’s that supposed to m-” Keith caught the mischief lingering in those eyes a beat too late. “Shiro. No, _no_ don’t you even-!”   

An arm was hoisted around his waist before he could even _think_ about escape. Damn Shiro and his innate ability to predict his movements and match him fluidly. Keith squirmed out of spite, because he wasn’t prepared to just _take this_ without a little resistance. It was, as expected, futile. And then came the frosting in the form of one nose bop and Shiro’s hand smushed into his face. 

“ _ **Takashi Shirogane.**_ I _swear,_ I’ll - I _will!_ And then it’s over and that - _you’ll see.”_

The empty meandering threats simply made Shiro laugh harder, shoulders shaking with mirth as he set Keith down gently. He hadn’t seemed to realise he’d been using his prosthetic hand to smother Keith’s face in goo so naturally. Without hesitation or considering what it had done, what _he_ had done with it. More an extension of himself, than an extension of _them._

But Keith _had_ noticed, and as he was wiping the goo off his face, a wide smile couldn’t stop growing despite himself. 

“What?” Shiro asked in confusion. 

Before Keith could respond, the green goo that had been progressively expanding in the tray _splattered_ suddenly across the entire kitchen. Ducking to the ground instinctively, the pair of them cast each other a look behind the shelter. It took a moment to process what had just happened, the _extent_ of their failure. Stifled laughter ensued, the private kind that never quite burst into full fruition. 

“We’re…  _really bad_ at this.” Keith bit down on his lip, mouth beginning to ache in a way that came with smiling unreservedly and genuinely. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Keith.” Shiro said seriously, expression drawn into a firm line that captured Keith’s attention instantly. “This had absolutely muffin to do with me.” 

Groaning at the _atrocious_ words, Keith butted his head softly into Shiro’s shoulder. 

“Fine. You absolve responsibility for this. _ **I’ll** _ absolve responsibility from admitting I know _who you are._ ” 

Shiro laughed, hearty and full of mirth. It was a sound Keith yearned to hear again, there was never really certainty in whether it would return sometimes. 

“Keith! It wasn’t that bad. At yeast I didn’t say-” 

“- _Please. Don’t finish that sentence_.” 

Nudging his head more insistently into Shiro’s side, Keith hid his smile there. Letting Shiro know his _terrible_ jokes were having the desired effect - not because they were funny, because it was _**Shiro** -_ was not an option. Still, the chuckle Keith felt more than heard indicated Shiro probably already knew as much. 

“Finished headbutting me yet? We need to clean this mess up before the others wake up and discover the extent of our failures in the kitchen. Come on.” 

Standing up, Shiro outstretched a hand. Keith took his hand, hoisting himself up to his feet. 

The kitchen was a mess. _A lot of things were a mess_. But like on the battlefield, like in the moments where starlines ripped their universe apart, they rotated in smooth orbit around each other. A notable, consistent gravity.  

**Author's Note:**

> 8)


End file.
